A House Elf's Baby
by Toasty
Summary: Hermione Granger knows all too well how rare a house elf pregnancy is in this day and age. Rare enough that she'll tolerate Thorfinn Rowle and take down a terrorist organization just to protect it.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger knows all too well how rare a house elf pregnancy is in this day and age. Rare enough that she'll tolerate Thorfinn Rowle and take down a terrorist organization just to protect it.

AN: It's been too long. We're all just playing around here.

* * *

The "first time" Hermione Granger saw him definitely wasn't the first time she saw him, but it _was_ the first time seeing him made her stop short and almost drop her to-go cup of coffee. He was standing in her office doorway. Completely in her office doorway. Without even _trying._ She couldn't see her desk (tidied up before her morning break), the umbrella plant in the corner of the small room (a gift from Ginny upon her promotion), or even her robes hanging on the hook by the door (dreadfully stuffy for a morning spent in the office.) His shoulders spanned nearly the entire entryway, and in the space that he left open was her assistant, batting her eyelashes and smiling beguilingly.

His name didn't come to her immediately.

"Thorfinn Rowle," he introduced himself, pushing up from the wall. He pushed his blonde hair back from his face with one hand while reaching out for her own hand with the other.  
Hermione shook her head, recognition hitting her, and held out her own hand cautiously, "Hermione Granger. What can I help you with, Mr. Rowle?"

Hermione Granger was well aware that her current position at the British Ministry of Magic was a bit… superfluous. It came as no surprise to her when elder Wizengamot members brushed her away and sent her back to her quaint office on the fourth floor. Her budget was meagre, her staff was abysmal, and her work was tedious. The bills she tried to pass rarely went anywhere, the paperwork she had to fill out in duplicates and triplicates was never-ending, and she spent more time handing out pamphlets on boggart and doxie removal than anything relating to creature rights and welfare.

She loved it anyway. Throughout her hectic years at school- and those few even worse ones after- it was what she craved. Monday thru Wednesday she floo'd in by half past eight. Morning break (a cup of coffee- black- to go and a moderately stale croissant from the ministry canteen) had her back to her desk at quarter after ten. Lunch was at one sharp, and then it was nose to the grindstone till six. Thursdays and Fridays she was "mobile"- a term she brought to the ministry to convince them to let her work from home. Three days a week she reviewed Hagrid's lesson plans, signed off on dragon imports, and walked exhausted housewives through how to get rid of magical pests. Then two glorious days a week she nurtured her "pet projects" as Harry called them.

It was routine. It was calm. It was quiet. Her coworkers and assistant had a running joke that they might set their watches by Greenwich, but Greenwich set thiers by Hermione Granger. Deep inside- and on the outside when her office door was closed- it made Hermione smile.

And then, four years in and newly named head of office, Thorfinn Rowle showed up in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Rowle?" Her knuckles were white around her coffee cup. He was fairly sure if he waited long enough her carefully painted nails would pierce right through the ministry-issued paper cup and explode her drink all over her prim skirt and blouse. He considered waiting it out.

In the end, he gave in, if just to move away from the overly perfumed witch that greeted him when he arrived. Taking a step forward, he reached towards a newspaper folded up on the assistant's desk. "You asked me to come, yeah?"

Hermione's eyebrows quirked. "Come again, Mr. Rowle?" She strode past him towards her office. "I don't believe I had an appointment with you scheduled. Did I, Florence?"

The other witch paled and darted towards her desk. "No," she flustered, flipping through the calendar on her desk, "No appointments until this afternoon."

Thorfinn rolled his eyes and shook the newspaper. "This article was you, wasn't it?"

Hermione's eyes went wide. Her nearest and dearest project. House elf registration and census. She might not be able to free them- yet- but she could at least figure out how many there were. Hogwarts was easy- the Headmistress was more than forthcoming with the information about how many elves they "employed"- but the old pureblood families were less so. Her last-ditch effort had been calling in far too many favors and putting out a quarter-page spread in the Prophet.

"House elves and such? You're trying to do a census?"

"Well yes-"

"I'd like to count mine."

Her assistant had the gall to giggle. Hermione shot her a scathing look that had her very focused on something in a ledger on her desk.

"Well," she motioned to her empty office, "After you then, Mr. Rowle."

Thorfinn Rowle decided early on he liked rendering Hermione Granger speechless. He liked how she shook herself out of it with a little shake of her head and a nervous twirl of her wrist. It was a decision he made early on in their "relationship" even if she never knew it. The first time they crossed paths she might have only been an eleven year old swot on her first train ride to Hogwarts, but even as a sixth year himself he could pinpoint just how to rile her up to a stubborn huff.

Over a dozen years on, and some things never change.

He dropped himself into the chair across from her desk and propped his feet upon it, smirking over his shoulder at her as quills and biros rolled across paperwork that was- at some point- neatly stacked.

"Mr. Rowle-"

"Aw, come on, Grange," he cut her off with a roll of his blue eyes, "Do we really need to keep that up after so long?" He stretched his arms behind his neck and relaxed more fully into the ministry-issued guest chair. It really could do with a cushioning charm or three. "Fritz and Fratz turn a hundred and six and a hundred and three this summer." She still hadn't moved from beside her office door. He raised one wild eyebrow. "Isn't that something you need to write down?"

Hermione eyed the blonde behemoth taking up most of her office and sending her desk into disarray. "Are you really, voluntarily, supplying me with this information?"

He had the gall to laugh. "Well you're definitely not imperiusing me there, Grange."

"Don't call me that," she snipped as she made her way to her desk, pulling a ledger out from a bottom drawer and catching a birro before it rolled off the edge of the surface. She flipped through the book until she came to a blank page. She began writing without even sitting down. "Fritz and Fratz, you said?"

He grinned at her no-nonsense demeanor. This was the frizzy-haired Grange he remembered, to a T. "Fritz will be 106 on July third-"

"You're sure of that?"

"Of course I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're telling me you can remember all your elves birthdays?"

"Grange, I may not have gotten the most NEWTS in a century, but it's only two elves. I think I can remember two birthdays. I mean, my da was a hell of a lot dumber than me and he managed it."

She cleared her throat and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Fratz, you said? How old is he?"

"She," he chuckled, "102. She's a doll. August 2nd is her birthday." Hermione nodded and kept writing.

"Any other pertinent information? Where do they reside? Are they related? Any illnesses?" She never looked up from her writing.

Thorfinn rolled his shoulders and settled down into the chair even more. He grinned. "1400 North Sea Lane, Middlesborough. They're not related. They're-" he hesitated.

"They're what?" She paused from her writing and looked up. "Mr. Rowle, while all this information is voluntarily given, it is massively important for the protection and health of the house elf population."

A massive hand waved her off her spiel. "I know, Grange. I read the essay in the paper. Did you have Binns proof it for you?"

"I'll have you know-"

"They're a bonded pair." Hermione fell into her chair. "Fratz is pregnant."

The tight French twist Hermione's hair had been tamed into that morning promptly exploded with gold sparks and left her hair a wild mess about her head. Thorfinn just grinned. She was speechless _and _he made her spark with accidental magic. No matter what Adrian might have said to him when he told him what he was planning on doing, this definitely was the best way to spend a Tuesday.

* * *

Harry Potter rolled his eyes over his lunch as he listened to Hermione's morning. "Rowle is a wanker. Has been since we were kids."

Hermione chewed on her sandwich and didn't disagree. "Do you think he's telling the truth? Do you think he _can_ tell the truth?"

Harry shrugged. "Does he have reason not to?" They sat in relative silence for a few moments while Hermione studied her ledger and Harry opened a bag of crisps. "Ginny wants to know if you're coming to the Burrow on Sunday. It's Fred's birthday."

"Wasn't he in Azkaban?"

"Fred? Nah. They threatened a couple times, but they just don't have the bollocks for the follow through. It'd probably do the brat a world of good though."

Hermione rolled her eyes and swatted at her friend. "You know I'm not talking about Fred. And of course I'll be there. Have Ginny owl me what she wants me to bring."

"I can look into it, but most of the young ones got by with a slap on the wrist if they could prove good behavior. Especially Snotty 28 families. You know how it was. These days, it's just a shitty tattoo and a bad memory. War is hell, and most of us were just kids." Harry shrugged and finished his tea. "I say, if he's willing to let you in on it, go for it. You're sure as hell not getting it from anyone else. Maybe he'll set a precedence and the rest of those turkeys will follow suit."

And therein lied the truth. She was trying to save a race who she didn't know anything about. Purebloods were secretive enough about their homes and their books, but they were downright mute about their house elves. Besides the information from the Hogwarts elves- many of who still didn't trust her fully- her house elf census was floundering. The article in the prophet was a last-ditch effort before she threw in the towel.

Hermione vanished the dregs of her tea and eyed the coffee machine in the corner of the canteen. "I suppose you're right," she sighed.

* * *

Thorfinn Rowle and another wizard she would come to recognize as Adrian Pucey were rocketing around the sky above a tudor-style home when Hermione Granger pulled up to the front gates and turned off the engine of her car. Looking around, she didn't see any muggles, but she had definitely just driven through a fully muggle city on the northeast coast of England. In the distance she could still see a double-peaked bridge standing guard over the skyline.

Pressing the key fob her doors locked with a beep and she made her way through the open gates. She checked her watch- 11 am sharp- and headed up the gravel path to the front door. She had an appointment to keep with two house elves, even if their "master" couldn't be arsed to stop playing around like a schoolboy.

Hermione Granger did not, at any point in her life, consider herself a clumsy person. She carried a childhood of ballet lessons and an adulthood of daily runs under her belt.

None of that mattered a lick when she suddenly found herself off her feet and arse-over-teakettle in the front lawn of the Rowle residence. By the time she looked up, a large blonde mane of hair in snug-fitting a quiddich kit was reeling back with an obscenely large bat and blasting an angry bludger at the wizard still hovering in the air.

Ladylike or not, though it would send her gran rolling in her grave, Hermione let out a feral growl. "Mr. Rowle, what is the meaning of this?" In no time flat she was back on her feet and dusting grass off her trousers. "We agreed upon this appointment not two days ago and by no means was I under the impression that upon arriving I would be manhandled and shoved to the ground!" Resisting the urge to stomp her foot like a petulant child, Hermione took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her temper. Another deep breath. And another.

The wizard in the air, now holding tight to the jerking bludger, let out a bark of a laugh. "I told you you'd be in for it, Thor!" Pulling his wand out of his sleeve he banished the ball back to its case and came slowly back down to the ground. He held his hand out to the seething witch. "Adrian Pucey," he introduced himself. "And you must be Hermione Granger, all grown up!"

Hermione ignored his hand. "Miss Granger, if you please." Turning to the blonde who had set himself leaning against his broom, she cleared her throat and carried on as if Pucey had never even existed. "Mr. Rowle, although you seem to have forgotten, we had made an appointment. You assured me I would be able to interview your elves today."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." He made for the front door. "Just didn't expect you coming in this way, did I?" Holding the front door open, Hermione entered, followed by Adrian. "After all, it's not every day little witches pull up in muggle autos, is it?" Two brooms were leaning against a closet door, and the wizards added theirs to the pile carelessly. "I was a bit surprised you didn't floo in. That was when Ade whacked that bludger and it got away from me."

"Oh bollocks!" the black haired wizard interjected, "Any excuse but the real one! You were watching her arse!"

Thorfinn shrugged. "Still, nailed it before it hit her, didn't I?"

"Oh yeah, Thor! I'm sure she adored being upended across the garden."

Hermione cleared her throat again. "The elves, if you please?"


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Oh. Hi there. Want to play around for a bit? I keep forgetting how frustrating ffn's formatting is.

* * *

House elves, as a species, had extremely long lifespans. It was not unheard of for them to live well over two hundred years, and as a result pregnancies were rare and highly secretive. To compound matters, house elves were an extremely monogamous species and when a pair bonded magically they could neither be separated nor reproduce with another elf.

Through Hermione's research- and a handful of forthcoming Hogwarts elves- she discovered that the secrecy of elves were slowly contributing to their downfall. When elves couldn't mingle- most often done in elf-run marketplaces and through the loaning of elves to other families for parties and events- they couldn't find mates. When elves couldn't meet they couldn't bond. When they couldn't bond they couldn't reproduce. When they weren't reproducing, old families became more protective of them, and as a result were more cautious of letting them leave the home. It was a cycling problem.

Hermione Granger had been following elf rights and studying their history and behavior since she was fourteen.

She had never met a pregnant elf. To say she was anxious might be considered an understatement.

The two burly wizards decked out in their quiddich leathers led Hermione directly into a parlor with a green brocade sofa looking out the large front windows and matching armchairs. The wood paneling along the bottom half of the room was brightened by the yellow walls atop it. Hanging above a large fireplace was an absurdly wide telly. Hermione snorted inelegantly at the Ballycastle Bats branded jar of floor powder sitting alone on the mantle. By the time she turned around, her blonde host had disappeared and left her with who she could only assume was his friend.

"I have to agree with Thor," Adrian interrupted her perusal of the room, "I would have been expecting you to floo in. He did have an alert ward set." Reaching behind a mahogany bar on the other side of the room he fished out a bottle of water. "I never would have expected anyone to drive all the way up here from London."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not that it's any of your concern, but I didn't drive from London. And besides," she looked pointedly at the telly hanging on the wall, "at least people generally understand why I prefer muggle things."

Adrian laughed and it carried through the room as he reached back behind the bar for a second time. Throwing himself into a plush armchair he turned the telly on with the remote he had fetched. "I'll get you on that one. The telly always throws the stuff-shirts for a loop." He flicked through the channels until he found a football game. "The first time Thor's old man saw it he nearly shat himself."

Another eye roll. "How endearing." She checked her watch again. 11:15. If the blonde didn't return shortly she was going to start considering the ways she could permanently silence the man who was currently making scathing remarks about the skill of the German team.

She had just settled on a _moderately_ painless tongue tie and jaw locking combo when Thorfinn re-entered the room with two small elves in tow.

"Sorry for the delay, Grange," he ran a large hand over the bald head of the smaller elf and she beamed up at him under her large ears, "Fritz was out in the garden and I had to go track him down."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You couldn't just call him?"

From behind her she heard Pucey snort. "Yeah, and be a right dick about it."

Thorfinn rubbed his eyes. "Listen, Grange, we've all heard the stories, and we know how it looks, but believe it or not, we're not all the Malfoys and the Blacks. They're tossers and they know it." Hermione blushed. It was true that, save for the Hogwarts elves- few of which had forgiven her enough to speak to her- her house elf history came from books, a downright dementiated Kreacher, and Dobby, before his passing. None of which were known to be especially reliable on the subject matter. "Calling for an elf isn't exactly terrible," he explained, "but it isn't exactly polite either, is it?"

She heard the telly click off and Adrian rejoined them. "What he's saying is, people do it, but how would you like it if someone screamed for you when you were busy," he smirked, "or on the loo?"

From her back pocket she pulled a miniature ledger and with a wave of her wand it was back to its standard size. "Well," she took a deep breath and flipped to a clean page, "I suppose I will have to note that." With a roll of her wrist she looked back up to the man in front of her, "So what else can you tell me?"

After the wizards had left to change and clean up, Hermione sat on the green sofa beside a pair of slightly nervous elves. Fritz wore a blue and white striped pillow case, tied snuggly around his waist with what looked to her to be faded gold bric-a-brac from a set of curtains. He had soil on his hands, but other than that, appeared clean and nearly plump in comparison to Kreacher.

Within moments of seeing her, Hermione decided she adored Fratz. Her large ears went pink when she was praised and beneath the swath of green fabric (which she assumed used to be curtains with gold trim) she could see a slight swell to her belly.

She was due around Yuletide.

Hermione's notes sat open on her lap as she turned slightly to face the elves. They were holding hands and looking up to her respectfully.

"I would like to ask you some questions," she began. "You are under no obligation to answer any that make you uncomfortable." She took a deep breath. "If you feel a question would result in trouble for your…" she hesitated, hating the word, "master, I would prefer you simply not answer. I do not want you to need to be punished."

The elves nodded, and she flashed them a smile.

"How long have you been with the Rowle family?"

"Fritz was born in the Rowle family in 1899," the larger elf explained. "Fratz was familied in 1967 when Master Sven and Mistress Nan married."

The smaller elf joined in, "Fratz was a gift." She beamed with pride and her ears nearly glowed they became so pink. "Fratz needed to bond with Fritz, so Master Longbottom gifted Fratz."

Hermione nodded and continued scribbling. "And is this your first pregnancy?"

Fratz nodded and touched her belly. "Too many wars before," she looked to the other elf, "babies are good and safe now."

Behind her, Hermione didn't notice the tall man, taking up nearly the entire doorway, listening on. He was fairly sure she wouldn't do anything that would make him regret allowing her in, but the Slytherin in him had always been hard to quash. He had changed out of his quiddich leathers and into a dark pair of muggle jeans and a black knit sweater. His mass of blonde hair had been tied back in a bun.

"Are you well fed here?" Hermione asked quietly. "Are you given ample time to rest? When you are ill, are you treated by a professional?"

Fratz looked nervous. "Miss," she whispered, "why must you ask such asks?"

Hermione paled and took the thin hand off the elf in her own. "Fratz, if you are ever treated badly, I will make it right. You need not be slaves-"

"Miss, no!" Fratz pulled her hand from the witch's and glared at her. "Miss, we not be _slaves_! We be _family!_ If elves being starved and sickly, it not be us!"

Hermione, a bit abashed at her reaction, was silent for a moment. In that time, Thorfinn stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Grange, let's make this less painful, eh?" He held out his hand for her.

She glared at the appendage as if it would bite her, and stood up of her own volition. "I would prefer," she ground out, "if you refrained from calling me that. Miss Granger will do."

He had the gall to smirk. "Come on, Grange," and he looped his elbow around her shoulders as he ushered her from the room. "Let's show you where we flog and torture out poor little slaves." Pulled from the room, she was almost sure she heard an elf giggle behind her.

Thorfinn led her to a large sunny kitchen in the back of the house, with red tile floors and well worn wooden countertops. Half a dozen stepstools littered the space. The windows looked out over the back garden and through an open door she could see a neatly tended bed of vegetable plants. The back wall housed another large fireplace- empty save for a classic black cauldron hanging over where a fire might normally be lit. She had to admit, it looked lovely. Clean, bright, and utterly charming.

A quick glance at her host found him smirking. In the back of her mind, Hermione decided that no matter how pretty their kitchens might be, Slytherins were still unbearable.

"This way," his voice rumbled behind her. He led her to a Dutch door tucked around the corner from the fireplace. The bottom was slightly ajar, so he opened the top until they met and leaned to push it open the rest of the way.

Thorfinn Rowle grinned. He liked making this brunette witch speechless.

Taking a step inside the room, he barely caught her whisper. "They made Kreacher sleep under the boiler."

Heat flared behind Hermione and she turned to look for the source. She jumped in shock to find Thorfinn's wand arm fully engulfed in white flames. She could hear his teeth grinding in his clenched jaw.

"They. Did. WHAT?"

"Kreacher. The Blacks owned him. He slept in a cupboard under the boiler." She watched cautiously as the blonde took deep breaths until the flames dropped from his shoulder, to his elbow, to his wrist, and then extinguished at his fingertips.

"That is _not_ how elves should be treated." He stated firmly. "I understand that we have more room for ours than some do, but they aren't to be treated worse than a dog. Those Blacks are ruddy awful. No wonder they all died out."

"Not entirely," she pointed out, "They married into the Malfoys-"

"And bloody wankers they are too. Birds of a feather, and all that rot." Thorfinn huffed and led her more fully into the small room. A toddler size bed sat in one corner with a knit blanket folded neatly across the bottom. Across from it was a miniature table with three chairs. "Elves are family, not dogs to be beat and fed scraps," he insisted. "They contribute to the family and the house, just like anyone else." He leaned against a small bureau of polished oak, and almost fondly brushed a speck of invisible dust off the horn of a massive Viking helmet. "They help care for our home, and our children. There's no one I would trust more. And in return, we offer them space, food, and security. We can protect them from those who wish to do them harm."

"I don't understand," she sighed, "If that's how it's supposed to be, why are they being beaten? Why are they relegated to indentured servants and slaves?"

He rolled his eyes and went to run his fingers through his hair before he realized it was tied back. "Hell if I know," he growled. "Those families are wankers. Spoiled brats, the lot of them. It's easy to beat something you're bigger than, innit?"

Hermione pursed her lips and with a wave of her wand, shrunk her ledger back down to fit into her pocket. "Thank you, Mr. Rowle," she held out her hand to shake. "It has been a very enlightening day." With a curt nod she turned from him to the small elves standing outside the doorway. "Fritz, Fratz, you are both very blessed to have the… family you do. If you don't mind, would you be willing to show me out?"

Thorfinn Rowle smirked, following as the elves led the brunette back to the front door. Adrian was back in the parlor watching Manchester get pummeled by Germany. At least while his mate was distracted, he could watch her cute arse make its way back down the path to her muggle car.

* * *

Her first line of action after leaving the Tudor home of Thorfinn Rowle was to find the closest furniture store. It took her less than ten minutes to find the shop, aptly named "Mr. Mattress" and park outside. At her last estimation Kreacher was nearing 180, and it would no longer be on her conscience if he was sleeping on a pile of rags under a boiler.

Within half an hour she was headed home with a flat-packed box of bed pieces, a proper mattress, the newest gel foam topper, and two sets of matching sheets.

Her second action was a strongly worded owl sent off to Harry and Ginny Potter. Complacency was no longer acceptable. The savior of the wizarding world and the sweetheart of the quiddich pitch could no longer stand by and treat their elf worse than a man who had served time in prison for arson and war crimes.

Her third action was a cup of coffee and a bowl of leftover curry. It had been a very trying day. And she was fairly sure she had a sizable bruise growing on her arse. Damn that Thorfinn Rowle.

* * *

On Sunday the Burrow was full to bursting with redheads and children. Hermione stepped out of the floo and into the arms of Ginny, who quickly flicked a spell across her to rid her of soot and scooped the bowl of fruit salad and the small carefully wrapped gift from her hands.

"Thanks so much, love!" The redhead kissed her on the cheek. "Harry and Ron are in the shed with Dad. Can you be a dear and see if you can't track down James? Victorie said she would keep an eye on him, but she's so easily distracted…"

Hermione waved off her concerns. "I'll go find him. No worries."

She found the young toddler trying to chase the older children up the stairs, and failing miserably. She scooped him off the fourth stair from the bottom, and with a tousle of his wild hair made her way back into the kitchen to find his mother.

"Oh, Hermione, there you are!" Molly bustled over to wrap the woman in a hug, squeezing James in the middle and sending him into a fit of laughter. "Gin was just telling me about what you did for Kreacher. That was a spark of genius! What prompted it?"

Hermione blushed. "I believe I'd had a breakthrough with my house elf census. A lot of things have been brought to light."

Before she could expound on the changes she planned on making a gaggle of children burst through the door and barreled into her.

"Aunt Hermione!" A dark-skinned boy squeezed her tight. "Did you bring your car? Can I drive it?"

She chuckled and patted him on the back. "You're a spoiled wizard, Freddie. I floo'd today. I wasn't driving six hours. And no, you can't drive it." She turned him around and with the help of the two redheaded women ushered the children outside. "You're only eight."

* * *

Monday morning for Hermione Granger brought with it an extra coffee before she made her way to the office and a full schedule. Her daily agenda- neatly charted in a color-coded planner- lay open on her desk, prepped by her assistant Florence before her arrival. With another sip of coffee, she checked it over as she pulled off her outer robes.

Nine AM, meeting with the Oblivation department. She rolled her eyes. Most likely another case of crup puppies with undocked tails being seen by muggles. She would need to make sure to bring a list of recommended magi-veterinarians. Docking should be done before four weeks of age.

Ten thirty, weekly department head meeting with the minister.

Eleven forty-five, Adrian Pucey. She nearly dropped her coffee in shock. "What in the world?" she mumbled to herself. "Florence, come in here!"

A blonde head popped through her door. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Why do I have an appointment with Adrian Pucey this morning?"

"He stopped in on Friday," she shrugged. "Said he wanted to do the census. He was quite put out that you weren't in." Her brow furrowed. "I _did _explain to him that he should have owled before coming in."

"I swear," Hermione grumbled, "if this is some joke he's trying to play after Thursday-"

"Thursday?" Florence had stepped fully into the office now and sat in the empty chair. "Why in the world would you have seen him on Thursday?"

The brunette took her own seat and began pulling folders and necessary supplies from her desk. "I went to meet with the Rowle elves on Thursday. Adrian Pucey nearly took off my head with a bludger before I could even make it to the door."

Florence laughed. "I should have guessed he'd be a beater." She fanned herself and winked at Hermione. "Although I always had a soft spot for the beaters, yeah? Always needed someone to heal them after a game and kiss away their bruises."

Hermione blushed. "Yes, well, to each their own, I suppose."

Florence's giggle followed her back out the office door. "I'll give you plenty of time to know he's here. I won't mind him sitting out here waiting for a while if you're busy!"

In the end, she _was _busy and he _did _have to wait. The weekly ministry meeting ran long, all the department heads were in a tizzy about budgets being cut, and for some reason the minister spent half the meeting talking about needing to allocate more money into ministry cleaning staff. Coming off the lifts, she rolled her neck and rubbed her eyes. She could have sworn when he first brought up overnight cleaning staff he glared at her directly. Mondays were rubbish, she decided.

Adrian Pucey, it seemed, didn't mind them as much. His broad body leaned casually against the corner of Florence's desk and she smiled up at him, her quill discarded and leaving a large blot of ink in the middle of the paperwork she was working on. Hermione tried not to scoff at his appearance. She was sure his wizarding ancestors were rolling over in their grave at his snug trousers and black upon black, leather upon leather ensemble. Her own muggle mother would have looked around for a motorcycle and probably held her purse a bit closer. His long hair obscured his face, and his body blocked her from Florence's view. They were shamelessly flirting.

Hermione cleared her throat. Loudly. When they both jumped and turned to look at her, she only raised an eyebrow. "I believe we had an appointment, Mr. Pucey?"

"Aye, aye," he pushed himself off the desk and smiled back and Florence. "Maybe next time she'll forget completely, eh?"

Florence at least had the decency to blush.

By the time Hermione finished her appointment with Adrian Pucey it was well past one o'clock, her stomach was grumbling, and she felt no better about the treatment of elves by families like the Blacks and Malfoys. The Puceys had four elves. Adrian was a scoundrel and a cad, but he knew the ages, birthdays, and family histories of Gus, Barrow, Pea, and Abano. Hell, he knew their favorite foods! She was also fairly sure that he dropped his personal contact info on Florence's desk on the way out. She was even more sure that it wasn't for her records.

Tuesday brought more surprises when Violet Rosier, a tall blonde woman, and Hadassah Travers, a petite woman who seemed almost her opposite, showed up to add their house elves to Hermione's census. Between the two of them, the womens' families had eight elves. The Rosiers with an astounding six, and the Travers with two. She postponed a meeting with the head of Magical Sports to keep the charming women in her office longer, and even after they had supplied all her needed information they asked her to join them for lunch.

Hermione couldn't decline.

Violet was slightly older than Hermione's own Gran and reminded her so much of her that it nearly hurt. She was dressed in a set of simple dark blue robes but wore them with such grace that when she approached the host of an upscale tea shop near the back of Diagon Alley the poor man fell over himself to seat them as quickly as possible.

Hadassah was as soft as Violet was sharp, and she could tell the women had a long history together. Hadasah's silvering blonde hair was worn in an elegant bun and her sunshine yellow robes were embroidered along the edge with a fleur de lis pattern. Hermione imagined she was what Mrs. Weasley's mother might have been.

Once they were seated in a sunny corner of the shop and their orders were taken Hadassah clasped her hands together and looked pointedly at Hermione. "Now, Miss Granger- may I call you Hermione?" The younger brunette nodded her consent. "Now, Hermione, please tell us, what prompted this novel idea of a- what did you call it- a census?"

In all actuality, Hermione expected the question to come much sooner. While in the ministry they were short and concise with their information and answers, and asked few questions themselves. "It began, I am somewhat ashamed to admit to you, an effort to free them." She looked up from her lap and into the faces of these two paragons of Pureblood history. "The idea of anyone being enslaved upsets me to my core. The elves I have known personally have been beaten, abused, and tormented. Treated as if they were worth less than dogs. Worked ceaselessly and barely allowed to survive, dressed in filthy rags and forced to keep in the shadows and behind closed doors."

Violet reached out to take her hand when she saw tears welling up in Hermione's eyes. "Oh, my poor child. Those are the exception, you understand, not the rule."

Hermione nodded as she poured herself a cup of tea. "I understand that now," she admitted. "It was brought to my attention that the families I was educated by were not the best examples of house elf… dealings." She still hated the terms others used so casually.

"Malfoys and Blacks, you mean?" scoffed Hadassah. "They seem to think money and a family tree makes them better than anyone else."

Violet let loose a snarky laugh. "Come now, Haddie, we all know the Malfoys don't have a family tree. They have a wreath."

Hermione nearly choked and tried not to spill her tea. Violet most _definitely _reminded her of her Gran. Regaining her composure, she poured the other two women their own cups. "I have to ask, though, was it my article in the Prophet that sent you to me? In all honesty, this project of mine has been floundering and in the last week I've gotten farther than in two years."

Hadassah scoffed. "That trash? We only subscribe so we have something to line the owl cages with. That's all it's good for anyway."

"Oh." Hermione was visibly disappointed. She had called in an absurd number of favors to get the spread. "How did you hear about it then? Everyone I tried reaching out to ages ago refused me."

"Oh, love, my nephew mentioned it to me." Hadassah took a sip of her tea.

"Your nephew?"

"Yes, dear." Hermione thought she saw a smirk from behind her teacup. "I thought you knew Thorfinn?"

Credit where it was due, when Hermione spit her tea across the table Violet only smiled and vanished it with a flourish of her wand.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: This might not keep up at this pace, but let's keep trying. What does everyone think so far?

* * *

Harry Potter sat down beside Hermione in the ministry canteen just after 1 pm on Wednesday. He sighed and took a long sip of his tea before turning to his long-time friend.

"Have you heard about the issues the cleaning crews are having in the department of mysteries?"

Hermione looked up from the notebook she was currently filling and raised an eyebrow. "I never took you as one to make idle gossip, Mr. Potter," she teased. "Next you'll be telling me who was kissing whom in the floo hall last Friday."

He rolled his eyes. "You and I both know it's always Malfoy and whatever bird he has chasing him that week." Hermione laughed. He wasn't wrong.

She moved her bag of crisps and slid her book over so Harry could see it. "Did you see that people are coming out of the woodwork to have their elves counted now?" Her contact list was growing daily. "Rosier and Travers were just the tip of the iceberg. I have four more appointments next week with "28" families, plus other families who have owled asking for a form to fill out. I even had two businesses contact me."

Harry's eyebrows arched above his glasses. "All this from your newspaper article? That's amazing!"

Hermione's smile faltered. "Ah… well… no. Not exactly…" She pulled her registry back towards her side of the table as Harry dug into his sandwich. "It turns out purebloods are very easily influenced… mostly by other purebloods…"

"What in the world are you talking about?" Harry quirked an eyebrow and when Hermione carefully closed her notes it hit him. "No way Hermione. Don't tell me Rowle is doing all this."

She shrugged and looked the other way. "No one has come out and said that he _told_ them to." She sipped at the terrible coffee. It really had gotten worse over the last few months. "I assumed he made Pucey just to prove he could. The rest… some have mentioned that they discussed it with him, but they've all come across like it was their own decision."

Harry, for one, didn't tell her she was an idiot. Eventually, she would wish he had.

* * *

Thorfinn Rowle did plenty of "skirt chasing" (as his Aunt Haddie called it) before the war and that time he referred to as simply "the bad years." He was fit, semi-famous, and moderately charming if you asked the quiddich groupies. After "the bad years" his mother and Aunt insisted he needed to "settle down" and "ground himself" but he didn't see the reason why. He was a wizard and had plenty of time for that later. He was comfortable being in his "finding himself" stage for a while yet.

His best mate Adrian was still in the "skirt chasing" stage, but he also hadn't been roped into "bad years" like Thorfinn had. His tattoos were are designs of his own choosing. Thorfinn couldn't say the same about his own.

Thorfinn was pointedly reminded of Adrian's affinity for skirt-chasing as he sat at the well-polished bar of the Leaky Cauldron by himself. Adrian was across the room sidling up beside a curvy blonde in lavender robes. When she let loose an annoying giggle he placed where he knew her from- she was Grange's secretary.

The blonde barmaid dropped his pint in front of him and took back off with a toothy smile. At least she wasn't the chatty old man he usually ran into. Tom remembered him from his days playing quiddich and never let him get away without rehashing all the same stories over and over. These days, he was just as happy beating a bludger around the house. No more worrying about lasting longer than the seeker floating around.

He heard Adrian's blonde giggle from across the room again and immediately someone scoffed down the bar. "Hannah," he heard a familiar voice call the barmaid, "Is my order ready yet? If I have to listen to Florence cackle one more time, I'm going to lose my appetite entirely."

The barmaid laughed from even father down. "Give me a minute, Hermione, and I'll go pack it up." Setting down another patron's drink, she disappeared through a pair of swinging doors. Thorfinn looked up and grinned.

Hermione Granger was leaning casually against the bar twirling her wand in her fingers. Her gray outer robes were open and he could just see a dark v-neck blouse and a red skirt that fell just below her knees. _Bollocks_, he thought, _no chance of watching her arse today._ Okay, so maybe his skirt-chasing days weren't _quite_ over yet.

"Grange!" he called out with a smile, and she turned to see him with wide eyes. Sliding his pint along the countertop, he moved himself down a few seats so he was closer to her. "Fancy a pint after work? My treat."

She shook her head and a few curls came out from the bun at the back of her head. "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Rowle, but I really must be going. I'm only picking up takeaway before I hit the floo."

"Such a shame," he grinned, "No little car today?"

Despite her attempts to remain professional, she laughed. "No, no car today. It's not worth the petrol to drive to London."

His eyebrow quirked. "I took you for a city girl. Fancy apartment and all that rot."

"Have you been doing much thinking about me, Mr. Rowle?" Her own eyebrow quirked in response. "For what it's worth, I much prefer the quiet of the north."

"Ah," he laughed, "Up in my neck of the woods, eh?" He took a sip of his beer and eyed her up and down. "Where exactly, in my neck of the woods, Grange?"

At that moment Hannah came back through the swinging doors with a paper bag destined for the pair. "Here you go, Hermione," she handed over the bag and took the coins from Hermione's hand. "It already has a stasis charm on it. Give the boys my love when you see them."

"Thanks Hannah," she leaned over the bar and gave the other woman a half-hug. "I'll be sure to give Ron a reason to pop in later." The barmaid flashed a grin. Turning to Thorfinn she nodded her head, "Thank you, Mr. Rowle. If anything happens with your elves please let my office know."

He was watching her make her way to the floo when he felt a gentle slap to his arm. Turning back around, the blonde witch- Hannah, he had learned- was grinning at him. "Hermione, eh?" He only shrugged. "She's a great girl. Picks up takeaway every Wednesday after work."

"Is that so?" he tried to sound disinterested, focusing his gaze back on the fireplace in the corner that was developing a small queue.

"She's such a hard worker. Lives up in the Lake District and floos in for work." Hannah eyed him carefully. "We've all been telling her for ages she needs to get out and meet new people." Another pint appeared next to Thorfinn's empty glass. "She knows too many gingers. Maybe a blonde would do her some good."

When Thorfinn turned to look and see what exactly she meant, she was gone. Turning back to the fireplace, the curly-haired brunette was gone too. Adrian's deep chuckle and Florence's twitter carried across the pub again.

* * *

At just before seven, two tall redheads stepped out of the floo into Hermione's small cottage. She split herself between them, each getting a one-armed hug. "Two of my favorite boys," she sighed. "I just picked up supper, so head to the kitchen and I'll put tea on."

Ron's stomach grumbled loudly and George laughed. "Sounds like Ronnikins is wasting away here. He must need first dibs."

Ron elbowed his older brother. "I wouldn't be so hungry if I didn't have to work through lunch. _Someone _disappeared when his wife showed up."

George was unashamed. "What can I say? We miss each other on Wednesdays. We need to make sure we get "Married time" in when we can." He ruffled the younger's hair. "You'll understand some day when mom and dad tell you about the birds and the bees, Ronnikins."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she flipped on the kettle. "How is Angelina doing, George? I hope Freddie enjoyed his birthday."

"She's doing great. Between shop hours and Fred's pee-wee quiddich practice, Wednesdays really are crazy. Thanks again for dinner."

She shrugged and pulled plates down. "No worries, really. Besides, it's just takeaway from the Leaky." Ron coughed and from the corner of her eyes Hermione caught his ears turn red. "Hannah said to send you her love, Ron." Hermione and George smirked.

"Her loooooooove," George parroted. "Did you hear that Ronnikins? Her loooooooove. Maybe mum and dad better get on that birds and bees talk, eh?"

Ron punched his brother in the arm and began plating up food. "You're both terrible," he mumbled. "I don't know why I put up with the lot of you." Everyone laughed.

After the boys finished their supper and headed back towards the floo, Hermione retreated back to her kitchen and poured herself another cup of tea. With a comfortable smile on her face she retired to a wicker chair on the flagstone patio overlooking her overgrown back garden. It was late spring and the night brought a chill off the lakes in the area. She accio'd a cardigan she had left on the back of her sofa, and leaned back to watch the bats come out overtop the trees. With a melancholy sigh, she eyed the matching chair arranged carefully a few feet away.

* * *

_Miss Granger,_

_Following our enlightening conversation on April the 19th, I would like to extend an invitation to you to interview and discuss the daily life of house elves in the Rosier family. I hope it is fully understood that while we are generously sharing our home and our family history with a ministry employee, everything said shall remain anonymous for the safety of our elves and household._

_Please reach out to me at your earliest convenience and I would be delighted to find a time that suits both of us._

_Warmest regards,_

_Violet Rosier_

_..._

_To the office of Hermione Granger,_

_The Longbottom family would like to extend an invitation to Miss Hermione Granger to discuss the health and welfare of house elves belonging to the Longbottom estate. Augusta Longbottom and Algie Longbottom will be available to supervise interviews with Peep and Teal Longbottom on the last Friday of May, the 27th, 2005, at ten AM._

_The address for Longbottom Estate will be provided upon confirmation. Arrival by floo or muggle means only, please. Longbottom Estate is warded against appiration._

_Respectfully,_

_Algie Longbottom_

_..._

_Grange,_

_Send me an owl if you want to meet the elves. Bring Florence._

_Adrian_

_..._

_Dearest Hermione,_

_Violet has informed me that she has reached out to you regarding meeting her elves. I would like to extend the same offer. Please let me know when you would like to meet Pip and Burl. They're dolls, and you'll adore them._

_Hope to hear from you soon,_

_Haddie Travers_

_P.S. I dragged out of my little Thorfinn that you live in Northern England. We'll have to meet for tea more often if we really are so close._

_..._

_Miss Hermione Granger,_

_The most ancient and noble house of Greengrass would like to account their personal house elves in any census that is currently being collected. House elves are an integral part of wizarding history and should be properly represented in all archives. The Greengrass family currently has 3 elves. Please forward any necessary census paperwork to the enclosed address._

_Respectfully,_

_Daphne Greengrass_

_..._

_To whom it may concern;_

_The Burke Family has one house elf. Please count her in the Ministry House Elf Census. If any other information is needed, please request it immediately._

_Thaddeus Burke_

_..._

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry this took so long. Gramps said he got your original request and burnt it. Triggered some long rant about "ministry stooges" and "mind their own bloody business." It wasn't until Daphne's mum mentioned it to mine that I realized it was all you. I swear, the old folks are so secretive._

_We have two elves. Ivy and Pinky are a mother and daughter. If you need any more info feel free to swing by my office, or we can meet up in the canteen for lunch one day. I'm on Level two with the Animagus Registry._

_Ernie Macmillan_

_..._

_Lovely Hermione,_

_I'd love to meet up with you to discuss this house elf census you're conducting. It's been too long since Hogwarts, and we really should catch up sometime soon. Drinks at the Three Broomsticks for old times sake?_

_Yours,_

_Cormac_

_..._

_To the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures:_

_The Volant family is looking forward to working with your office to include their family elves in the House Elf Census. Please forward pertinent information to the enclosed address._

_Edward Scrivenshaft, solicitor_

_..._

_Dear Miss Hermione Granger,_

_I am interested in participating in your House Elf Census. Please reach out to my grandson Graham with further information and a convenient time for us to meet. I have heard such wonderful things about you and your project. _

_Respectfully,_

_Adair Montague_

_..._

_Miss Granger,_

_The Bulstrode Family is interested in providing information for the House Elf Census. Please forward me any necessary forms._

_Millicent Bulstrode_

_..._

_Mr. Rowle,_

_I'm not sure what you did (or why), but thank you. I am incredibly grateful. Please keep me updated as how Fritz and Fratz are doing. I think of them often. If you are comfortable with the prospect, I have a few gifts I would like to pass along to them. I can send them by owl with your consent._

_Many thanks,_

_Hermione Granger_

_..._

_Grange,_

_I don't have any idea what you are alluding to, but I will accept your undying gratitude with pleasure. I'm sure there are quite a few ways you could make it up to me._

_Fratz refuses gifts unless they're delivered in person. Around dinnertime. Say, Saturday the 14th?_

_Owl me,_

_Thor_

Ginny dropped the last letter on Hermione's patio table and burst out laughing. James was wobbling around Hermione's garden trying to catch bugs and flowers with Crookshanks. "Oh love, you're in it, aren't you?" She laughed again. "So you really think an ex-death eater is going around telling all these stuffy old purebloods to register their elves with you?"

Hermione crossed her arms and glared at her friend. "It's not a _registry_, Gin. I've told you that. It's a _census._ I may have their names, but they're not logged with the ministry. I'm only recording ages, genders, bond status, and things like that. Nothing that can be used to abuse them."

"Still," Ginny waved off her explanation, "You think Thorfinn Rowle, of all people, is championing this from behind the scenes? Not that word is just traveling?"

"I don't know anymore," Hermione admitted, "but these aren't even a third of them, and I'm getting more and more every day. Most of them don't want to come to the ministry to discuss the elves either. I don't know if I'll be able to find the time to spend on the road- or in the floo- doing interviews. The minister is even starting to take notice. I asked him the other day about it and he just told me that's what overtime is for." She sighed. "I'll be working weekends till James starts Hogwarts at this rate."

From across the garden James squealed and almost without looking Ginny sent a body-bind charm towards him. "JAMES SIRIUS IF YOU EAT THAT WORM YOU WILL REGRET IT!" Once the body-bind was released the toddler pouted as he held the worm out to the large orange cat beside him. Clearing her throat, Ginny turned back to her stunned friend. "So, what do you plan on wearing on your date with Rowle?"

Hermione hid her face behind her hands and groaned. "You're not helping, Ginny!"

"What, are you telling me you don't think he's fit?" Ginny arched an eyebrow. "I've seen the bloke. He's nothing to shake a stick at."

Hermione eyed her friend. "And what exactly are you doing eyeing up strange men when you are happily married, Mrs. Potter?"

Ginny was unashamed. "Just because a girl is on a diet, it doesn't mean she can't peruse the dessert menu." She tossed her red hair over her shoulder. "Besides, last time I checked, Beaters are more of a cheesecake type, and I've always been a fan of biscuits."

Hermione laughed and propped her feet on the low stone wall of her patio as she leaned back in her seat. "Please tell me, Ginny, that you did not just compare quiddich positions to desserts. What does that make you?"

Ginny grinned and wiggled her ring finger in the sunlight. "Obviously, I'm a wedding cake."

* * *

From Hermione's cottage in the Lake District to the home of Haddie Travers was just shy of 45 minutes by car. The brunette couldn't have asked for a better Friday to make the drive. The sun shone down on the winding roads, and she made magnificent time as she pulled up to the two-story farmhouse. Scattered around the front garden, pecking at the ground, were a dozen or more chickens. Hermione checked her watch as she stepped from the car. She was early, but it was the risk she ran by not flooing everywhere.

Hermione headed for the boot of the car and was elbow-deep putting the last of her paperwork back in her satchel when she felt something warm and firm press against her from behind. Before she had a chance to draw her wand, an arm covered by a long blue shirt reached around her and plucked the leather bag from her hands.

"I'll take that for you," a deep voice mumbled in her ear and suddenly she was no longer trapped. She turned to find Thorfinn Rowle ambling back towards the farmhouse with her work bag slung carelessly over his shoulder. His aunt, dressed again in yellow robes, stood in the open door grinning and waving to Hermione.

Hermione had a distinct feeling she was being played.

When Haddie led everyone into the kitchen at the back of the house, Thorfinn pulled out a seat for their guest, like any well trained pureblood son would do. Haddie beamed at him and he set himself right next to Hermione without a word. When Haddie offered tea, he poured Hermione coffee. When they moved to the sitting room, the herculean blonde ushered his Aunt to the only chair and arranged her two elves on the chaise, leaving just enough space for himself next to Hermione on the sofa. She did her best to ignore him.

Haddie's elves, two males named Pip and Burl, were gruff and made it clear they were annoyed with Hermione. The elder pureblood didn't seem to notice. When they were less than forthcoming with their answers, Haddie expounded for them. Neither seemed to mind in the least.

Burl, the younger of the two, claiming his age to be a spry 92, huffed in annoyance but allowed the witch to peek inside the small garden shed he claimed as his own space. She could feel the breeze from a witch-cast cooling charm in the air and the dirt floor was overlayed with an intricate Oriental rug that looked soft, but oddly out of place. Once she had gotten a good look, the elf shut the door and made his way to the small barn out back past the garden wall.

Pip admitted his age to be 197, and Hermione made note in her ledger. He was definitely the oldest elf she had met, and the longer they sat and talked, the more visibly his age showed. His bed and precious belongings were set with care in Haddie's walk-in closet. Her own clothes and belongings were nowhere to be found.

Haddie smiled almost sadly as the elderly elf heeded his mistress when she encouraged him to rest until tea time. After closing the door on him, she took the younger witch by the arm and linked their elbows, leading her back down the hall.

"For quite a while he shared the garden shed with Burl, but a few winters ago we decided that warming charms weren't enough for him." Hermione thought she saw tears glistening in the older woman's blue eyes. "We tried to move him into a guest room, but rooms like that are so big to them sometimes. And I have to admit, I like having him so close."

They had reached the sitting room again and when Haddie led Hermione to the sofa, the brunette had almost forgotten that Thorfinn was still with them.

"Has Pip always been with your family?" She asked.

Haddie began to fully tear up, and with a wave of her hand, her nephew spoke for her. "Pip was our resident nanny elf." Even he spoke of him fondly. "Aunt Haddie was a Rowle before she married. Pip has been raising Rowles since the late Edwardian era."

The older witch suddenly burst into sobs and threw her arms around Hermione. "And I'm so heartbroken," she sniffled, "that he probably won't be around for Thor's babies!"

"Oi now hold up a minute there!" Even Thorfinn seemed taken aback by her words, if not her actions.

His aunt pulled herself away from Hermione's shoulder and turned to her nephew with a glint in her eye and hard set shoulders. "Don't you "Oi!" me, Thorfinn Rowle!" Hermione had to hide her laugh when the small woman turned her finger on the hulking man. "Your mother, may Merlin bless her soul, may not be here to remind you of your duties to this family, but I am more than capable of it myself!"

Hermione took the time the two purebloods were distracted to quickly return her notes to her bag and fish her keys from the pocket on the back. A flick of her wand made it featherlight and she slid the strap over her shoulder.

"Popping out sprog isn't a _duty_," the wizard argued back.

"And neither is skirt-chasing anything that promises to show you their snitch, but you and Adrian seem to think it is-"

"Aunt Haddie!"

Hermione burst out laughing. Thorfinn was beet red beneath the scruffy beard he sported and his aunt seemed supremely pleased with herself.

Hermione was nearly in tears she was giggling so hard. "On that note," she forced out between chuckles, "I believe I should be off."

Neither pureblood seemed entirely pleased with that, but both led her back to the small car parked out front. After the older woman made her goodbyes, Thorfinn leaned over the open door as Hermione climbed in.

"You didn't owl me back, witch," he teased with a smile. "Fritz is in a tizzy about whether we should be expecting you or not."

Hermione gave the slightest roll of her eyes and attempted to close her door. A muscular arm stopped it. "I'm not exactly sure what you are trying to get out of this, Mr. Rowle-"

"Oh come on, Grange," he leaned closer to her car, "do we need to keep playing with this 'Mr. Rowle' bollocks? If you don't say yes, my meddlesome, matchmaking aunt over there is going to spontaneously combust."

They both turned back to the house in time to see someone dressed in bright yellow duck out from a window facing them. Hermione rubbed her hand over her face.

"I can't make any promises, Rowle." Again she tried to close the car door. "I'm going to have to work weekends for the next month thanks to someone going and cluing the pureblood community into what I'm actually trying to do."

The tall wizard grinned. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, Grange." She started the car, and he jumped just slightly. "Promise me a drink at the Leaky on Wednesday, then."

She pursed her lips. "One drink," she conceded. He grinned again and finally let her close the door.

Standing in front of his crazy aunt's house, watching a little muggle-born witch drive away in a flashy blue car, and feeling almost happy about it, Thorfinn thought maybe he had taken one too many bludgers to the head.

* * *

A month and a half in, Hermione had reached the point where she almost looked forward to Wednesdays. A tall, blonde wizard would escort her from her office to the local pub where they would chat while her takeaway order was prepared. She had even taken to sneaking out of the office a few minutes early, and on a couple occasions her redheaded dinner guests were already waiting when she stepped out of the fireplace in her home.

And then, one Wednesday, Justin Finch-Fletchley dragged his 4:30 appointment out as long as possible. Checking her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes, she tried not to let her annoyance show. He had been in her office for well over two hours, and she still had no idea why he was trying to get elf information from her. She had promised the minister himself ages ago that her house elf census was not a registry, and though she had met a handful of elves, the majority of the data she had collected had been entirely anonymous.

"Justin," she interrupted him, "While I applaud you interest the current plight of house elves, I promise the census project is fully under control within our department."

"Hermione," he practically sneered, "Let's be real here. You of all people know what they do to those poor creatures." He placed a pamphlet with his business card stapled to it on her desk as he stood. "When the ministry is ready to take the right steps in freeing the elves, let me know."

With a huff, Hermione tossed the paper in the bottom of her work bag as Justin left her office. Through the open door she saw Thorfinn stand from a waiting chair. The wild-haired viking of a wizard dwarfed the posh muggle-born, but Justin still managed to look down his nose at him.

"Mr. Rowle," he nodded, "I hope you're enjoying being a slave owner." He looked back towards Hermione's office one last time before taking his leave for the lifts. "Ah. Well, that makes more sense then, doesn't it?" With a sniff, he was gone.

Hermione exited her office, warding the door with a swish of her wand. "I'm sorry about that running late, Rowle." She rubbed her eyes and stowed her wand. "I don't know what Justin's problem is. He was such a nice Hufflepuff in school." She shook her head. "I think I'm just knackered."

Thorfinn hummed and nodded, but eyed the lift carefully. He was fairly sure Hermione hadn't heard the arrogant man's comment to him. "It's getting late," he attempted to change the subject, "have you already owled your order to the Leaky?"

Hermione groaned as they pushed the button for the lifts. "I completely forgot. The boys will be ravenous ." The towering wizard beside her laughed. "Don't you laugh, Thorfinn Rowle!" She poked him in the side as they stepped into the lift together. "Last week they both were at my house for fifteen minutes before you let me leave for the floo! They teased me mercilessly all night!"

A toothy grin bloomed beneath his scruffy beard, He took the witch's workbag from her and slung it over his own shoulder. "Aunt Haddie said you met with the Rosiers? How did that go?"

Hermione wasn't surprised in the least that Hadassah Travers was discussing her. Again. To anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. In a short period of time, it seemed, she had become "Aunt Haddie's" favorite subject. The small woman had even roped her into a standing brunch on Sundays at her farmhouse. Occasionally it was just the two of them, but more often than not she used it to convince more pureblood families to provide house elf census information. On two occasions she disappeared moments after Hermione's arrival and left her in the company of her only nephew.

"The Rosiers were a wealth of information. Violet is concerned about house elf numbers. Her husband is concerned about the cost of paid staff. Their elves are all well past breeding age." Side by side, they made their way to the ministry floo hall and began queueing for a fireplace.

With a sigh, the wizard lifted the satchel over Hermione's shoulder, now with a featherlight charm on it. "I won't be able to convince you to skivv off the Weasleys and join me for dinner, will I?" With a guilty frown, she shook her head. "Alas," he moaned dramatically, "Then I suppose I will have to take myself home and torment a house elf in retaliation."

Hermione laughed and slapped him gently on the arm. "I'll see you on Sunday, then?" He nodded, and she disappeared in a flash of green flames.

A handful of fireplaces over, a poshly dressed man glared at the blonde as he followed the witch into the flames.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: There be lemons ahead. But sometimes lemons are still sweet.**

* * *

Everything happened so quickly.

On the first Monday in June Kingsley Shacklebolt pulled her into his office alone after their weekly department meeting. He sat her down and explained to her that the ministry house elves had, over the previous six months, all disappeared. One hundred and seven house elves. Gone.

On Tuesday, Penelope Clearwater showed up in her office- sans appointment- and pleaded with her to reconsider giving Justin Finch-Fletchey the information on her census project. When she declined, yet again, she asked how strong her warding was.

On Wednesday, Thorfinn Rowle kissed her in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. When Ron and George tried to floo into her home, they found themselves dumped back in their own fireplace. Hermione, for the first time in two years, had shut off her floo.

* * *

Thorfinn Rowle, she was entirely sure, was going to be the spectacular mistake she one day told her granddaughters about. He was a brute. A literal Viking- his aunt had spent an entire Sunday tracing their family tree for her. He was an ex-quiddich player who had spent time in Azkaban for arson, and three months on she still wasn't sure what- if anything- he did for a living.

And, to ice the cake of bad ideas, she was currently straddling his lap on her small sofa, with her fingers knotted in his hair and his lips practically attached to hers. Her favorite red skirt, an A-line design that normally fell just past her knees, was slowly being pushed to an indecent height by a pair of large warm hands on her thighs. She untangled her hands from the blonde hair and they traveled to the hem of his gray jumper. She felt his fingers tracing along the edge of her knickers and she sighed into his mouth.

There were too many clothes between them. She could feel his hardness beneath her, and she was more than willing and ready. He nipped at her neck and she arched back.

Suddenly a loud crack made the amorous couple jump and separate their hands, though Hermione remained firmly on Throfinn's lap. They both looked around, trying to find the source of the sound, but it appeared as they were still the only people in the small cottage.

From behind the sofa, came a small sob.

"Burl is most sorry, Master Thorfinn!" Hermione leaned over the blonde wizard's shoulder and found a familiar house elf near to tears. "Mistress Haddie sent Burl."

Hermione was off Thorfinn's lap and around the couch before he had a chance to stop her. "Oh Burl," she cooed, pulling the normally grumpy house elf into her arms, "What in the world happened?"

The house elf hiccuped and sniffled, in an attempt to stem a steady flow of tears. "Mistress Haddie said Master and Miss must come with Burl _now._ Pip has gone missing!" The admission of his fellow house elf being found missing sent him into another round of hysterics.

Hermione scooped the elf into her arms- something she knew he would never allow under normal circumstances- and turned to find her paramour already standing, holding her black flats in one hand and both their outer robes draped over his arm. "I will apperate us," he stated, with no room for discussion.

Hermione nodded and circled the room, slipping her shoes on one at a time. "Burl," she spoke to the elf buried in her shoulder, "Is Haddie at home?"

He moaned and nodded. "Mistress made Burl leave her alone!" The witch shushed him and brought his head back to her shoulder, while looking up at the blonde wizard.

Before taking his hand to apperate she caught sight of small white flames flickering around his wrist. "Just a moment," he growled between clenched teeth. "Let me take a deep breath."

He ended up needing three deep breaths, but as soon as the flames were gone, he pulled the witch and elf to his chest and with a booming crack, they were gone.

* * *

Hadassah Travers was sitting on a small bed tucked in the corner of her walk-in closet. She held a well worn pillowcase and what appeared to be the remains of a small knit blanket. She was silent, staring almost through the far wall, and it concerned Hermione more than if she had been sobbing. Setting Burl down, he ran to his mistress and burrowed himself under her arm.

"Aunt Haddie," Thorfinn crouched in front of his aunt, and his presence made the closet quite crowded. "What happened to Pip?"

She took a shuddering breath and finally looked towards the wizard. "I had wanted him to rest after tea," tears started dripping from her blue eyes, "But he insisted on putting the chickens away. When he didn't come in right away, Burl went to go check on him." Burl let loose another mournful moan. "He was gone. This was stuck to the front door."

Haddie pulled a piece of paper out from beneath the pillowcase in her hands and passed it to her nephew while Hermione looked over his shoulder. It had an emblem on the top that consisted of a dove atop two crossed wands. Beneath the printed emblem was one sentence written in an elegant flowing script.

"_Slavery will not be tolerated."_

Hermione reached out and managed to grab the paper before Thorfinn's arm burst into flames. Taking the note with her, she stepped back into the bedroom proper and pulled out her wand.

"What are you doing?" Thorfinn asked from the closet doorway.

Hermione closed her eyes. "At the moment, I'm going to think of an absurdly happy memory so I can send a patronus to the ministry's head auror. Then, I'm going to call upon the teachings of my muggle gran and soldier on." She took a deep breath and with a twirl of her wand a silvery otter burst forth. It circled the bedroom once before shooting out the closest window and disappearing into the darkening sky. "Haddie," she called gently, "Harry Potter will be on his way soon with a team of aurors. I'm going to need you to open your floo for them." She took a deep breath herself. "Thor and I will go put the kettle on for tea. Can you come down when you're ready?"

Standing from Pip's bed, Haddie nodded. "Stiff upper lip and all that rot, right dear?"

Hermione took Thorfinn's hand and led him from the room. "We'll just be in the kitchen when you're ready."

Thorfinn stood behind Hermione as she set the kettle on the stove and lit the hob with her wand. When his arms came around her and his chin settled atop her head, she let lose a deep breath and leaned back into him. "Care to tell me what that bit of wandwork back there was?" Thorfinn's voice was gravely and she thought she heard a bit of admiration in it. "Because it looked to me like a fully formed patronus went flying out my aunt's bedroom window."

Hermione turned in his arms and burrowed her face in his shoulder. "You mean that's not a charm you get a lot of use out of?" His deep laugh rumbled from in his chest and she looked up at him. "It's faster than a floocall. It'll find him anywhere and relay the message I sent with it."

The kettle started to whistle and she took it off the heat. The hulking wizard stayed behind her. She felt him gently pull her hair back from her neck and a kiss landed just below her ear. "Care to share what that happy moment was?"

"Oh yes, Hermione, I would love to hear that." Harry's voice carried from the kitchen entryway and with a squeak Hermione jumped and pushed Thorfinn a respectable distance away.

"Harry!" she nearly shouted, "I didn't know how long it would take you!" Her cheeks were blushing wildly and she hoped she could pass it off as heat from the kettle. Haddie was standing beside him with an all too familiar smirk on her face, even if her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying. "I see you've met Mrs. Travers." She cleared her throat and headed for the cupboard she knew held the teapots and cups. "I'll just get the tea ready."

Haddie, Hermione, Harry, Thorfinn, and two other ministry aurors whose names Hermione didn't catch sat around the Travers kitchen table. Three more aurors were inspecting the surrounding property and casting a multitude of ministry-level security wards. Harry had taken custody of "the note" as Hermione had described it and after casting multiple stasis and preservation charms on it, slid it into his briefcase. Haddie was the only one drinking her tea. Under the edge of the table, her empty hand clung to Hermione's.

"Mrs. Travers," Harry began gently, "Is there anyone you can think of who would want to harm your house elf? Had he ever crossed anyone himself?"

Haddie only shook her head as tears came back to her eyes.

Hermione answered for her. "Harry, Pip is almost two hundred years old. He could barely cross the road, let alone a wizard." She squeezed the elder witch's hand again. "Besides, he was a nanny elf. His main responsibility was caring for children."

Hermione glanced across the table when she heard one of the unnamed aurors sniffle. "Did they really nab an ancient nanny elf?" He wiped a tear from his eye. "I'd be gutted if someone did something to Compy."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at his coworker. "Really, McTavish?"

"What?" he asked. "Didn't take me for a softy?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Nanny elves wouldn't hurt a fly. Compy is better than any old granny you could ever meet. Whoever took Pip Travers didn't do it because of something the elf did."

Slowly but surely, three sets of auror-trained eyes turned to the flaxen-haired wizard on the far side of Hermione Granger.

"No." Hermione's voice was firm. "If they wanted to attack him, he has his own elves. This isn't a personal issue." She shook her head. "Most definitely not. Harry, has Kingsley reached out to the auror department?"

Harry flipped through his notes. "No? Why would he?"

Hermione scowled. "He told me just the other day that a hundred and seven house elves have gone missing from the Ministry. This isn't a coincidence. Someone is targeting elves." She rubbed her eyes and Haddie reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's getting late."

Harry nodded and motioned for the other aurors to stand. "The rest of the team should be finished warding the property by now, Mrs. Travers. The Auror department would appreciate it if you could come by the ministry tomorrow to give an official statement."

Haddie nodded. "Of course, Auror Potter. I will be there promptly at nine."

With a nod, handshakes to the blondes, and a quick hug to Hermione, Harry made his way to the floo with his fellow aurors.

Hermione began clearing the dishes from the table. Thorfinn stood and rubbed her arm. Leaning close to her, he spoke quietly to her. "I'm going to see if I can bribe Aunt Haddie to bed. Don't you disappear on me." Hermione nodded and the wizard turned away from her, ushering his aunt out of the kitchen.

When he came back down, Hermione was rinsing the last of the teacups and setting them to dry beside the sink. "How is she feeling?" she asked, turning to face him and leaning back against the sink.

Thorfinn shrugged. "She wouldn't let Burl leave. I plied her with a calming draught and promised we wouldn't leave right away." He took a deep breath and fell into a chair. "She's nervous. Scared." He ran his fingers through his hair and looked up at the witch. "Do you think it really was a purposeful attack on my family?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I think there's something else going on." she crossed the kitchen and settled herself in his lap. "The minister has been trying to keep the ministry's elves disappearing under wraps. I have to wonder if any other elves have gone missing before this, and just weren't reported."

Thorfinn buried his nose in her curls and hummed in agreement. They sat together in the silence for a few minutes. Outside, a cow mooed in the barn and an owl answered back. In the kitchen of Haddie Travers, two unlikely friends sat together, lost in their own thoughts. With a deep sigh Hermione broke the silence.

"I should be getting home," she mumbled quietly. "I'm sure I will have to go into the office tomorrow after all this hubub."

The blonde's strong arms tightened around her middle and he pulled his nose out of her neck. "I'm not sure I like the idea of you going home alone," he grumbled.

She had the gall to laugh and pull his arms from around her middle. "You're just sore we were interrupted earlier."

"That too," he shrugged.

Hermione sighed again, brushing a lock of blonde hair from Thorfinn's face. "Go home," she told him, "Go home and check on your own elves. I don't know what I would do if something happened to Fratz." Standing, she pulled her out her wand. "Double your wards. I'll get ahold of you tomorrow." With a quick peck to his cheek, she was gone with a soft pop.

* * *

Hermione had already been in the office for almost two hours when Florence came in and yelped in surprise to see her boss. Her normally immaculate office was a disaster. Three small ministry owls sat on the back of her guest chair and two more perched precariously on the edge of her desk. She wore a pair of reading glasses balanced on the end of her nose.

"My goodness," Florence breathed out, "You gave me quite a fright!" Pulling off her outer robes, she carefully made her way to Hermione's desk, looking over her shoulder at the papers scattered about. "What in the world are you working on that was so important you came in to the office?"

Hermione handed her a replica of the note left on Haddie's door. "A house elf was stolen last night. I know I've seen this emblem before. Check all correspondence and see if you can find a match." Florence nodded and headed back to her own desk. "And Flo?"

Florence paused in the doorway. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Reach out to Pucey. Tell him to increase his wards." The well-coiffed blonde nodded again and disappeared around the corner out of sight.

When Haddie finished her appointment with the Auror department she made the trek to Hermione's small office. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair was pulled back in a lank plait. Upon Thorfinn's insistence, Burl remained safely contained in the ministry wards at home. Florence ushered her into Hermione's office and closed the door quietly on her way out.

Hermione was genuinely surprised to find Thorfinn didn't accompany her to the ministry. Haddie brushed off the younger woman's concern. "He had work to do," she explained, "And it's not like I'm a frail old spinster who needs an escort everywhere I go."

The brunette blushed, properly chastised. "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant-"

"Oh I know, dear girl." The older woman waved away her embarassment, then checked her watch and noted the time. "It's nearly noon. I arranged to meet with Wisteria Parkinson for lunch. Would you care to join us?"

Hermione glanced heavily at her desk. With a swish of her wand, the papers piled themselves into a deep drawer by her leg, which she proceeded to ward tightly. Sighing, she stood up and held out her hand. "I suppose a bite to eat would do me some good."

* * *

Sunday found Hermione up before the sun rose over the lake near her cottage. Tossing on a pair of snug cropped jeans, a long-sleeved top, and her favorite pair of flats, she grabbed her keys from the hook by the door and headed to her car. With a wave of her wand behind her, her home's wards were set and she was cruising off through the trees.

When she pulled through the gate in front of Thorfinn Rowle's Tudor-style home Hermione felt the wards sluice over her skin like icy water. In combination with the quickly warming summer day, it did not feel terribly uncomfortable. She smiled at his careful precautions.

Faster than she expected, the blonde wizard came bursting from the front of his home, his hair wild, shirtless, with one hand fully engulfed in hot white flames. As if expecting him, Hermione was sitting daintily on the bonnet of her car. She passed him a dazzling smile.

"Thorfinn Rowle," she called out, "please tell me you were not about to throw a fireball at your girlfriend like a complete barbarian."

"Hermione Granger," he countered, putting the flames out with a shake of his hand, "what makes you think I would want to call someone my girlfriend who throws around words like "barbarian"?"

The brunette shrugged and leaned back on her car, sunning herself. "You ought to hurry and put some clothes on if we're going to make it to Haddie's in time for brunch."

"Witch," he growled, "you already woke me up from some very pleasant dreams. You best get your arse over here and make up for it."

She snickered and looked at her watch. "I'm sure it'll take you a good forty-five minutes to make your hair look pretty, Haddie's is another hour from here, and I need to find a coffee shop on the way. You really ought to hurry." She hopped off the car and leaned in the passenger side door, pulling out a couple bags. "I have some things for Fritz and Fratz anyway."

Her words eventually caught up to his sleep-addled brain. "Grange, you can not think I'm getting into that death trap."

"Well of course you are," she rolled her eyes, "and it's perfectly safe. I've been licensed for ages. I take the kids out in it all the time."

"It's muggle."

"Just like your telly, and you love that."

"It's a tin can on wheels."

"It's a mini Cooper. They're a British icon."

"It's not safe."

"You jump on a broom fifty feet in the air and have angry bowling balls thrown at you for fun. You don't get a say in what's safe."

With a huff, he turned around and headed back inside.

"Forty-five minutes, pretty boy!" Hermione smiled to herself and made her way into the home, where she was promptly greeted by a small elf dressed in a kitchen towel, a small belly pushing outwards against the pumpkins embroidered on the middle. The witch leaned down and hugged the elf. "I have some gifts for the baby," she told her, and they made their way back towards the small room off the kitchen.

Halfway to Haddie's, Thorfinn asked to drive.

* * *

Monday brought sixteen Pureblood scions to Hermione's office. Five were distraught over missing elves. Eight wanted Auror presence at their homes. Two wanted to know what exact role her census had in house elf disappearances. One was Adrian Pucey, too busy buttering up Florence to pay Hermione any mind.

"_Slavery will be abolished."_

"_Slaves are not family."_

"_Slavery is not a standard."_

"_We will be a generation of freedom."_

"_Wizards should master nothing but their own magic."_

Every single one clearly written beneath the dove and crossed wands. Hermione rubbed her eyes as she glared at the papers on her desk. She had seen the logo before. She just couldn't remember where. With a quiet growl, she dropped her head to her desk. Florence had left over an hour ago and the office was silent. It had been a hellish day, but she couldn't bring herself to pack her bag and head home.

In the distance, the lift dinged. A few moments later, there was a quiet knock on her open office door. "Hmm," a deep voice sounded, "Here I was, wanting to selfishly feed the witch who claims she's my girlfriend dinner, and she's had the gall to pass out on her desk in a heap. The manners people have these days."

Hermione only groaned from beneath her pile of hair.

"Come now," he continued on, stepping fully into the office and turning one of the matching guest chairs into a table with the wave of his wand, "I have it on good authority that you're a sucker for Welsh rarebit, and I may have brought the best in all the British Isles."

Hermione scoffed, and lifted her head. "I call bollocks. The only edible welsh rarebit comes from the Three Broomsticks and-"

The blonde lifted the brown takeaway bag, emblazoned with Rosemerta's logo.

Pursing her lips, Hermione forced herself not to pout. "If you brought that without a Scotch egg or two I'll have to reconsider this farce of a relationship."

He only laughed and set the bag on the transfigured table. "Didn't I say "good authority"? The same kind of authority who had the arrogance to send a giant goddamn deer patronus at me in the middle of a meeting." He rolled his eyes and Hermione stifled a giggle.

"Harry gets upset when it's called a deer," she half-heartedly scolded as she pulled her chair around to the front of the office. "He wants everyone to call it a STAG."

Thorfinn looked at her flatly. "It's a deer. A TALKING deer that nearly made my clients shit themselves." Out from the bag he pulled two paper plates and half a dozen containers of food.

Hermione snatched a scotch egg before he could plate it up. "I can't believe you went all the way to Hogsmeade just for takeaway."

He laughed. "Darling, you're a catch, and floo travel takes no time, but I didn't GO all the way there." He fished the plastic flatware from the bottom of the bag. "My office is there."

Hermione paused and blinked at him. "Your… office?"

"Why do you look like you're trying to solve an arithmancy problem?"

"I just," she shrugged, "I didn't expect you to have an office anywhere."

The blonde quirked an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat. "Hermione Granger," he drawled, "Do you think I don't work?"

She had the good sense to look embarrassed as her face flushed. "I mean," she stuttered, "_do _you have a job?"

"Of course I do!" The wizard seemed only slightly insulted. "What do you take me for, a Malfoy?" His shoulders puffed out even more in resistance to the possibility of being compared to the snobbish dandy of a man.

"Well I don't know," the witch huffed in defence. "I mean, you show up at all hours. Like ten am. On a Tuesday."

His pomp deflated slightly and he shrugged, dishing up dinner for the woman opposite him. "Come now, Grange, dig in." He handed her a plate of food. "Remember, we're not all tied down to Ministry rules. Or hours."

Hermione tucked into the plate of food and let loose a sigh. "Well, what _do_ you do, then?"

He shrugged and opened up the last container on the table and revealed a steaming shepherds pie. "I'm a realtor. I broker wizarding real estate deals."

"Wizarding real estate? Really?" She sounded disbelieving. "That's a thing?"

"Of course it is. There's always a market for housing in fully-magic towns and communities." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Think of it this way, Grange, after all that trouble you and your lot caused in school-"  
"Me and my lot?! I'll have you know-"

"Exactly." He seemed unconcerned about her huff. "How many parents think it's jolly good to ship their kids off year after year? Hogsmeade is booming. June thru September our company gets slammed." He paused and took a bit of his own dinner. "Families move to Hogsmeade so the kids can get the education they need and still be home at night. Even if "home" is a two bedroom flat off the main drag. Then, after graduation, yours truly helps them sell it to the family of an incoming first year."  
Her jaw dropped. "And you bank the commission. Again."

"Well, a man has to put fish on the table, doesn't he?" Thorfinn smiled smugly.

Hermione eyed him and picked at her own dinner. "And how long have you been doing this?"

He thought about it. "Since not long after those bad years. So, going on four years now? Something closer to that." The hulking blonde focused on his dinner and they fell into a comfortable silence.

Poking at the last soggy bites of her food, Hermione looked at him from the corner of her eye. He had finished long before her and was sprawled out in the chair, his feet propped up on her desk again. He had folded his arms behind his head, and his eyes were closed. He looked utterly content.

"I call them "bad years" too," she muttered, almost to herself.

He slowly opened his eyes and arched a single blonde eyebrow.

"I mean," she stuttered, "I know they're not the same thing you went through," she took a deep breath and willed the dampness in her eyes to stay away, "but I had some awfully shit years in there myself."

The blonde wizard slowly reached out and took Hermione's fidgeting hand in his own larger one. A calloused thumb gently stroked the back of her hand as he closed his eyes again, for all the world looking like he hadn't heard her.

She thought he hadn't, when his gravelly voice almost startled her. "Ruddy good thing they didn't last forever."

**...**

The towering wizard with a wild mane of blonde hair and his small brunette counterpart fell out of the floo into his dark home without letting go of one another. Her well-worn satchel of work papers and spare pencils hit the carpeted floor with a thud and she laughed.

"Thorfinn Rowle," she murmured against his lips, "this is a terrible idea."

He growled in response and simply lifted her into the air, encouraging her thighs to circle his waist. Moving through the room, she let out a huff when he backed her into a wall and his lips moved along the column of her neck.

"Great idea," he cooed. "Bloody magnificent. Perfect. Genius idea." His lips moved along her neck, first biting, then soothing, distracting her enough that he quickly had her blouse almost fully unbuttoned.

His fingers, rough from years of quiddich, skirted over the edge of her simple nude bra.

Suddenly, he pulled back from her slightly. In the soft light filtering through the large glass windows, he stared down intently at her. A few seconds went by, and he suddenly took a step back and lowered her down to stand on her own feet.

Beneath his almost angry scrutiny, Hermione began to pull her shirt closed.

"No." His voice was deep and demanding. "You have a glamour on." He could barely see the flush burst on her cheeks. "_Why_ do you have a glamour on?"

She shrugged and held her shirt closed across her chest. "I was in a war," she barely whispered. "Some scars can't be healed, even with the best potions."

With an alarming fierceness, Thorfinn reached out to her cheek and pulled her in for a bruising kiss. "We will take this upstairs," he started clearly, "and you will remove any glamours you felt the need to hide yourself behind." His thumb grazed her cheekbone and she leaned into the touch, closing her eyes. "We all have scars," he admitted, and before he could say anymore she pressed her lips to his own.

When they came up for air, she smiled at him in the twilight. "Thorfinn Rowle, I believe you said something about upstairs."

**...**

When her glamours came off, the moon filtered in through a large window and lit her almost completely as she laid back in Thorfinn's bed. A nervous flush traveled down her neck and across the tops of her breasts. In the low light, the starburst scar on the crest of her right breast looked almost purple. Without her ever-present glamours, she felt the jagged letters on her left arm even more fully.

Standing at the foot of the bed, the Viking wizard who had been ever-present in her dreams for months began to slowly remove his own clothes. Pale skin with a light coating of blonde hair showed first. Broad shoulders tapered into a trim waist with clearly defined abdominals.

Hermione's bare legs rubbed together of their own volition, attempting to satisfy the curl of heat burning deep in her belly. Thorfinn almost growled at the sight. His trousers soon followed his shirt, leaving his excitement clearly tenting his boxers. Leaning forward, he boxed the small witch in between his arms as he leaned forward and took a hardened nipple in his mouth.

Hermione groaned and arched her back. "Thorfinn Rowle," she barely breathed, "if you think you're going to call me your girlfriend, you better stop teasing me and fuck me until I believe it."

His mouth let her nipple go with an audible pop, and he slid more fully up the bed so he could kiss her again. "What the witch wants," he murmured into her neck, dropping little love bites along the way, "the witch shall receive."

* * *

A small elf popped silently into the large Master bedroom and with a snap of his fingers, the curtains on the window slid open, bathing the room in early morning light. A wave of his hand and the scattered clothing folded itself neatly atop the bench at the foot of the bed.

In the bed itself, two bodies seemed all but lost beneath a light sheet and a massive tangle of hair- both blonde and brunette. The source of the blonde hair groaned at the sudden introduction of light and burrowed deeper into the curly brown hair.

The elf stood beside the bed with a small smile on his face. "Master Thorfinn," he spoke clearly towards the sleeping figures, "Master Thorfinn, Fritz is needing to wake you up now." The blonde head groaned again. "Master Thorfinn I don't believe you want mister Adrian to find you so… comfy."

Hermione shot straight up, dislodging the large wizard wrapped around her. With a startled squeak, she pulled the sheet up to her neck and looked around the room.

Fritz smiled broadly. "Good morning Miss Hermione!" He motioned to the end of the bed. "Fritz has freshened and folded Miss Hermione and Master Thorfinn's clothes. Fratz is making breakfast."

Flushing scarlet, Hermione nodded. "Fritz," she whispered, "do you know what time it is?"

Thorfinn grumbled "Too bloody early," and attempted to pull the witch back down into the bed.

"Still early," the elf informed her. "Master's first appointment isn't until 7:30. The time now is 6:07."

"See," the wizard complained, "there's still plenty of time." With one firm tug around her midsection, he pulled Hermione back into the depths of the bed, throwing a large thigh over her so she couldn't get back up. He rutted his nose back through her hair until it reached her neck, where he began laving kisses atop the love bites he had left the night before.

A polite pop told the two people in the bed that the small elf had taken his leave.

Pulling herself from beneath the man trying to coax her into more bad ideas, Hermione held the sheet against herself as she fished for her clothes at the end of the bed. His warm body followed her and continued trying to pull the sheet from her.

With a half-hearted puff, she stood and began pulling her clothes back on. "Thorfinn Rowle," she scolded, "We both have work to get to, and one of us still needs to go home and change before everyone at the ministry finds out about her irrational Monday-night decisions."

His brows furrowed as he watched her do up the button and zip on her skirt. "Are you saying you're ashamed? That you regret it?"

"What?" Her eyes shot to the blonde lounging on the bed. "Thorfinn, no!" She dropped herself to sit on the bed, wild hair haloing her head. Reaching out to his cheek, she ran his hand over his rough beard and into his hair. "Merlin, no. Not ever." She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before standing again and reaching for her blouse. "But I can't reasonably walk into work on a Tuesday morning in Monday's clothes, with wild hair and reeking of sex."

Pacified, Thorfinn smirked. "You should see your hair."

She laughed. "Like you're one to talk." After another lingering kiss, she forced herself to pull away. "I need to go," she murmured. "I'll see you Wednesday?" He nodded, and she disappeared out the door.

Making her way into the parlor, she smiled at the state of the room. The contents of her work bag were scattered across the floor in front of the fireplace, one of the plush chairs was knocked over, and an antique landscape painting on the wall was tilted at an absurd angle. Picking her wand up from beside the leather satchel, she waved it at the painting and the chair, putting them to rights. She crouched down and began refilling her bag by hand.

Almost methodically, she filled and organized her bag. Nearing the end, she spied the corner of a paper peeking out from under the sofa. Pulling it out, she recognized it at the pamphlet Justin forced upon her months earlier.

It fell to the floor when she caught sight of the now familiar emblem printed on the top. A dove atop two crossed wands.

_True Pure Magics_

_For the protection and education of wizardkind that have been blessed with the pure, untainted gift of magic._


End file.
